


Sleepless Nights

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:39:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Who but Garrison would manage to get involved in an undercover job taking down a band of villains when he was in a hospital bed supposedly recovering from a concussion??!  Casino was never going to let him live it down!





	Sleepless Nights

Casino frequently groused that Lieutenant Craig Garrison could find a mission to take on anywhere and anytime.

"Wouldn't be surprised if he don't lay awake thinkin up the next one! Anything to get himself or us all bunged up!"

That disgruntled outburst was perhaps understandable seeing the number of bruises they were all wearing at the time from the most recent brainstorm from their Warden. Yeah, it was a success, as many of his were, but still! Sheesh!!

Well, the young American officer DID spend a lot of sleepless nights, nights laying awake thinking about the missions, possible missions, the team, new cons that might work, and lots of other reasons. But this latest? Well, maybe Casino was right. It was for sure the safecracker would have plenty say about THIS little adventure! Who but Garrison would manage to get involved in an undercover job taking down a band of villains when he was in a hospital bed supposedly recovering from a concussion??!

***  
He didn't get enough sleep.

It was what Dr. AJ Riley kept telling him when his malaria would make a comeback, or he'd get that tightness in his throat like someone was trying to strangle him from the inside.

It was what Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins told him when the non-com would find him pacing the floor of his office well before dawn or long after lights-out, frantically making notes on a pad or rummaging through the files.

It was what Meghada told him after she'd find the notes, precisely annotated with the date AND the time(!), letting her know he'd been at the Cottage in her absence to use her library/office to review those special maps or journals or whatever. {"2 AM? Really, Craig?? Whatever happened to sleeping??"}

That was even what he told himself whenever things just didn't seem to make sense anymore, when he encountered situations or people or _things_ that were just too much to deal with. (That had happened a lot since he'd taken charge of his crew, and even more since Meghada and her family had entered the mix. Why, some of the things . . .! No, best not go there; that was just another sleepless night waiting to happen.)

And it was true, no matter the source. He simply DIDN'T get enough sleep. Well, wartime wasn't all that conducive to a good night's sleep, true, but frankly some of that (a goodly portion of that) sleeplessness could be laid at the door of his wild card cons. All of them, that was true, but most specifically, most FREQUENTLY, his Cockney pickpocket.

And, to come right down to it, much of that truly was Goniff's fault, no doubt about it. How such an amiable and cheerful little man could get into so much trouble was anybody's guess!

Some of it was when the pickpocket cum second story man started practicing his 'craft' in venues other than where Garrison was directing him. Whether it was snaffling trinkets when they were SUPPOSED to be on a mission, or pocketing little items in the surrounding area (particularly that ever-so-alluring museum/historical residence not too far away), or even just his insistence on climbing anything that caught his eye that he thought might be a challenge ("coo, Lieutenant, gotta keep in practice!  Never can tell w'en yer gonna need me to do something like, you know!"), Goniff was a handful!

Add to that his penchant for egging his teammates on into ill-advised ventures, like 'the riding of the sheep' incident in imitation of Actor's description of his own 'running with the bulls'. Now how did THAT make any sense??!

And his wading into whatever nonsense the others got up to, seemingly without even thinking of the consequences? That didn't help.

Garrison did have to admit that some of the trouble Goniff got into was Garrison's fault, of course. He still got shudders thinking about that little decoy mission he'd come up with in London, thinking HE'd be the one under the gun, only to find Goniff abruptly dismissing that idea as not feasible due to Garrison's lack of knowledge about the people and the territory, and taking on the role himself. If anyone thought Garrison got any sleep during THAT affair, they'd be wildly mistaken. Not til Goniff was safely back among them did he let himself relax enough to do more than drowse in a chair.

And across the Channel? There was a whole list there, though Garrison decided those couldn't really be counted, not in the same way. Yeah, maybe Goniff had ended up taking lumps plenty of times, but so had everyone on the team; that was just part of the business, unfortunately.

The dreams, the nightmares, where Goniff had played a role - those on a more personal note? Well, those had accounted for many a sleepless, or at least many greatly interrupted nights' sleep. Those had been mostly resolved now, with Meghada's intervention on several counts. Amazing what a few herbs, and what she called 'lucid dreaming' could do. Well, along with finally facing reality about the unexpected connection between himself and his pickpocket.

A reluctant grin crossed Garrison's face when that thought brought him to the next. Yes, Goniff was now responsible for a few sleepless nights in a totally different regard, but those Craig Garrison just couldn't regret. And it wasn't like he didn't get SOME sleep on those nights, after all, and the sleep he did get was wonderfully peaceful and contented.

What he DID regret was this new mission, coming out of the blue, just a couple of hours before he was intending to head out on some 'personal business'. That's all he told the guys, though by necessity Gil Rawlins knew where he'd be. Sergeant Major Rawlins, bless him, never turned a hair, just nodded and said "yes, sir. I'll not disturb you unless it's urgent."

When the call came, Garrison groaned inside. He'd been looking forward to the evening ahead. The Cottage, Meghada, Goniff - a quiet drink, some pleasant conversation, some shared warmth Garrison had never found anywhere else. Now?

"Gil, round them up. If Goniff's not here, you know where he'll be. Put in the call and get him back here on the double. We're out of here within the hour! I'll start in the map room; join me as soon as you get the guys in line!"

They'd be spending the night getting briefed, dashing to board a plane headed to France, then treking to meet the Underground. No sleep in the forecast once again.

And there hadn't been any time for sleep while they were gone either, it had all gone down too fast. The mad dash in, the whirlwind con and then hightailing it out of there before it all hit the fan. One near disasterous skirmish with a patrol, one fierce firefight later, then to the exit point. In all honesty, none of them would have laid odds on their making it out at all, didn't really believe it til they boarded the sub. Even then, they were tense, waiting for some unexpected bolt from the blue to blast them from existence.

When that didn't happen, they sat back to take stock. They'd made it back, none undamaged by a long shot, but at least all mobile and moving on their own steam. Well, except for Garrison, who'd finally admitted that the blow to the head possibly, well, okay, probably, HAD caused "maybe a SLIGHT concussion, alright??!" His eyes had been three-quarters closed against the 'glare' of the dim messroom of the sub, or he would have seen the impatient roll of the eyes that little confession had gotten from his team.

{"Yeah, just what we've been tryin to tell him the last four hours, right?!"} Casino thought to himself. Actor just shook his head reprovingly, and motioned Goniff and Chief to shift the officer over to the waiting bench. Those two, each having a firm grip on Garrison's arms, gave each other a knowing look, and eased him along. Taking another look at that slight sway, they each settled in beside him, just in case he decided to topple over.

"There you go, Warden. Just sit tight; we'll be home soon," Chief offered.

Goniff chimed in, "yeah, Lieutenant. A quick run through debriefing, then we'll get us all over to Patrick and 'is lot, they'll 'ave us all right and tight afore you can say 'Ruddy HQ!', or maybe something else, considering," giving a weary smile. Patrick and James, both doctors, would be quick to provide medical care, clean clothes, food, and a place to finally stretch out and get some sleep. Just the thought was enough to bring a look of anticipation to every man's face.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy. HQ was a mess, and the attached Med Unit no better. Teams were streaming in and out, casualties enough among them, plus the injured from the unexpected collapse of a billeting dorm at the back of the building. Knowing it wasn't a German attack but a shifting of the hastily built foundation hadn't been of much comfort to those caught in the rubble, of course, or the hospital staff scurrying left and right trying to care for them.

Those assigned for debriefing were rushed, but still intent on keeping to the proper procedure, so when Garrison had quietly passed out just as HIS debriefing had started, no one was agreeable to Actor's calm insistence, "we'll get him some medical care and bring him back when he's in better shape."

No, while they agreed Garrison wasn't likely to tell them much in his current condition, they weren't about to let him off the premises before he'd been debriefed. Off to the med unit, overcrowded though it was, that was the order.

Of course, that same med unit couldn't accommodate the rest of the guys. "Well, we've hardly the room or the staff. You've all been debriefed; best run along. I'm sure you'll find someone to patch you up. There's others hurt far worse, you know."

The casual dismissal hadn't gone down well, though they all knew they'd get far better care at that little hospital Meghada's family played such a part in; but leaving Garrison to the tender mercy of HQ's Med Unit didn't set well. They lucked out when the doctor examining their officer listened while Actor explainined the circumstances of the injury and what had gone before, and agreed he probably had a concussion.

"It would be best if he had someone with him tonight, I agree; he shouldn't be allowed to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. But I don't know who I can spare to manage that." The doctor looked like he himself wasn't in much better shape than Garrison. He'd put in a full eighteen hour shift just before the dorm collapse, and hadn't sat down since.

"One of us can stay," Actor inserted smoothly. "Indeed, all of us." The doctor looked at them skeptically, and the MP's escorting them protested that the Colonel doing the debriefing had ordered them out and gone. The doctor heard them out impatiently, then waved them to silence and faced Actor.

"Not all of you; he needs to be kept awake but not kept from getting what rest he CAN get. Alright, ONE of you; that would be best." He waved his hand dismissively at the frowning MP's; "yes, you have your orders, but this is my domain, not yours, not your Colonel's. Unless one of YOU want to stay and talk to him all night, keep him from falling asleep; assume full responsibility for his well-being? No, I didn't think so."

It wasn't much of a decision. After all, as Goniff declared, "I can talk all night without a bother; not like I actually need to be SAYING anything, and I'm the one least bunged up. Least I aint leaking like Casino there, and sporting a busted arm like Chief. And you, Actor; coo, the way your jaw is all bashed and swelling up, doubt you'll be doing much talking at all afore long."

They reluctantly agreed he had the right of it, Casino even offering a knowing "well, not like yer actually saying anything most any other time yer chattering away, is it?" While the words might have been a little harsh, even scornful, the tone wasn't, nor was the brief clasp the brusque safecracker gave his teammate's shoulder in passing, getting a weary grin and nod of acknowledgement.

Still, if THEY had to leave, at least they were comfortable leaving him there, knew he'd stick to the program. The doctor clearly wasn't, giving a clearly skeptical look at the blond Cockney wriggling in that wooden chair, trying to get comfortable. He would have been more comfortable with the situation if it had been the tall Italian staying; he seemed the responsible type and had been the one to brief the medical team on the Lieutenant's injuries. The Englishman, on the other hand, well, that was a different story. The man looked dragged out, half asleep already.

{"Probably find him curled up on the other bed within ten minutes, out cold."}

Actor could tell what the man was thinking, and gave as much of a reassuring smile as he could, considering the state of his jaw.

"Do not worry, Doctor. Goniff knows the Lieutenant is depending on him; he will not fail us."

The doctor didn't believe that, not really, not til he'd poked his head in the door several times over the next few hours, each time hearing a soft raspy voice going on and on, occasionally insisting on an answer from the injured man, and getting it each time. {"Well, I guess I was wrong,"} he admitted, and put the duo out of his mind for the moment. Heaven knows he had enough else to deal with.

Garrison was only half in and out of consciousness when they settled him down for the night, gave instructions to the only one of his men still around, but even he had to appreciate the irony of it. Goniff, their pickpocket, their occasional chatterbox, perched on a chair alongside that hospital bed, entrusted with keeping Craig Garrison awake. Well, wasn't like THAT was anything new! The slender blond Englishman had done that on any number of occasions. The 'keeping him awake' part, anyway, though never in these particular circumstances, certainly never on doctor's orders.

Now, in the fuzzy mush that was his working brain, Garrison thought he should remember to add that to the man's resume - 'expert at picking pockets, snaffling portables, second-story work, and keeping me awake at night.'

He halfway listened to the man's chatter, remembering some of those times. Occasionally something in Goniff's monologue would draw his whole attention back, and he'd reply or maybe whisper a question or comment. They might talk back and forth for just a little while, til Garrison fell back into listening mode, and it was probably best there was no one listening, for much of what was said would have made little sense to an outsider. Well, the dark, the solitude, it being just the two of them in an unseen crowd of strangers, it did make for some odd conversation.

The interruptions hadn't really drawn their attention, not at first. Not the doctor sticking his head in now and again, that was only to be expected. But for those two orderlies to be so attentive, in a med unit this busy and this understaffed, that did seem a little odd.

"Wonder w'at they're up to," Goniff said with a frown. He'd kept his voice low, though that had been pretty much the usual since they'd turned the lights down low for the night. "Seemed surprised to see me first time around, more pissed the second. And 'im with the chart, looking it over, saying I needed to leave and let you rest, doctor's orders. Saw the doctor write it down meself, that you'd 'ave someone with you all night, keeping you awake, and that was to be me and it was on 'is orders."

Garrison tried to focus. He didn't want to think about trouble here. He didn't want to think at all, not about anything except the sound of Goniff's voice, soothing, going on and on about anything and everything. Not all of that 'nattering on', as Goniff would call it, made much sense, though Garrison wasn't sure how much of that was due to his concussion, or just because his pickpocket sometimes seemed to drift off into a kind of stream-of-consciousness mode that probably made sense only to himself. {"Knowing Goniff, maybe not even TO himself,"} Garrison acknowledged with a wry smile. {"Doubt when morning comes he'll even be able to tell you what he was talking about. He's told us often enough that he 'don't waste my time and brain cells listening to myself, you know.' Not sure how he manages that, but he swears it's true."}

It didn't matter to Garrison; it was the voice, the reassuring presence that mattered right now. It anchored him, like Goniff's frequent hand on his shoulder or forearm, added a layer of warmth that thin hospital blanket failed to provide.

As if reading his mind, Goniff stood up, stripping off his jacket and laid it up over Garrison, tucking it in over him, before checking to see if there was anything better suited in the sparsely-equipped room. The Lieutenant huddled into the jacket, the lingering body-heat welcome against his shoulders and chest.

"Well, now, look w'at I found!" Goniff said with a note of triumph, pulling an overlooked blanket from behind the headboard of the second bed. That bed had been stripped to bare mattress so there had been nothing promising at first glance, but treasure could be found in the oddest places. His 'Gaida had told him that many a time, {"and this just proves her right"}, he thought.

Goniff spread out the blanket over Garrison, ignoring the officer's protest that Goniff should take back his jacket. Trying to keep Garrison from noticing his shivers, he shrugged.

"Naw, don't need it. It's not cold, just a bit chilly and that'll 'elp keep me wide-eyed. Now, w'ere were we? Ah, that time me Aunt Moll got cross-wise with old Peggity Malone. W'at a row THAT was! Was like this . . ."

"Wait on Aunt Moll for a minute, Goniff. Those two, the orderlies . . ." his mind finally letting that faint stirring of his inner warning system come to the forefront.

Pulling his mind back to the two intrusions, he knew he resented them; he was, for lack of a better word, enjoying this quiet time together. Yeah, he'd have preferred to be experiencing it without the massive headache and queaziness, and the general atmosphere was not the most desirable, but you couldn't have everything.

"My pistol still here?" Garrison asked.

"Yeah, they didn't take any of yer stuff, even that. Usually do, though. I offered, they said . . ."

He frowned, thinking over what the orderly HAD said; he had to admit he hadn't been paying too much attention, too concerned with making sure they got the Lieutenant settled without jostling him around too much.

"Said there's new rules. With all the bodies coming in, they weren't to waste time with such. Wonder, now . . ."

"What?" Garrison asked, feeling more than seeing the narrowed eyes that accompanied that little thread of thought.

"If the ones that usually DO ain't collecting the portables, tucking them away safe somew'ere, wonder if some others might not think they just might take care of that little matter themselves? But with that somew'ere else being in their OWN pockets. Not a bad dodge, and most probably not in any shape to notice anything missing til it's over and done. Could make a nice little 'aul, you know? A little rough on any who wake up at the wrong time, maybe, but they most likely would 'ave a story or two all lined up to account for why they're rummaging through things. Depends on their sort as to w'ether it'd go any further than that. You'd think not, but still . . ."

"Better hand me the pistol," Garrison ordered, only to be met with a firm shake of that ashen blond head.

"You can't go shooting anyone, Craig. First off, you still aint seeing straight, more'n likely to 'it me w'ile aiming at someone else. And as thin as these walls are, maybe the ceiling and floor too, could 'it someone not even in the room." He noticed his slip of the tongue, using Garrison's first name like that, but at least no one was around to hear.

Garrison hardened his voice, "give me the damned gun, Goniff. I won't shoot, I promise, not unless there's no alternative, but just me having it might give them a little pause. Maybe give us an edge." Every man on the team knew just how important an 'edge' could be sometimes in the fight for survival.

After a brief hesitation, Goniff reached in the drawer, gave Garrison the gun. Looking around the dim room, he decided a little shift of the furniture was in order as well. Garrison watched while Goniff set the stage.

"There, that little table with the drawer, the only place the portables would likely be, that over to the side. Gives me a clear view if they 'ead in that direction; keeps them farther away from you, too," moving his chair to the other side, closer to the head of the bed. "This way, my back's not to the door, I'm able to see if they so much as think to come in. Still close enough to talk, quiet-like. And maybe we're wrong. No 'arm in 'aving things in place just in case we aren't, though."

"No harm at all. Now, about your Aunt Moll. Somehow I never pictured her as a rabble rouser. Just what happened?"

That soothing voice, telling a story that just HAD to be made up, surely, brought a faint smile to Garrison's face. Maybe the rest of the night would be peaceful, and in the morning the doctor would release him for debriefing, and they could collect the guys and head back home.

Of course, back home, he'd be isolated in that bedroom, with Goniff down the hall in the Dorm with the other guys. He was sure the Englishman would still disturb his sleep, one way or another, but without the comfort of his presence. He settled back to enjoy the rest of the night, headache, queazy stomach and all.

The third intrusion by the orderlies put an end to any notion of 'peaceful'.

  
***

  
"Sheesh, which one a you is supposed to be the patient??!"

Casino's words might not have been diplomatic, but no one could claim they didn't accurately present the situation.

Garrison, leaning propped against the metal headboard, was pale and drawn and bleary-eyed, the bandage stark against his forehead. The bruises he'd gotten in the explosion were mostly hidden, but there was one along his temple that did show, sullen against his skin.

Goniff, sprawled in the hard wooden chair, legs stretched out in front of him, looked surprisingly like a smaller mirror image, which the guys were NOT expecting. Oh, they expected the Cockney to show the effects of a long sleepless night coming right on top of a long exhausting mission, and the pallor and the deeply-shadowed eyes, the almost-translucent cast to the area under his eyes, that all seemed about right, but he sure as hell hadn't had those bruises the last time they saw him, nor that split lip.

"An encounter with a couple of entrepreneurial types, Casino," Garrison grated out, "one I intend to have a talk with a few people about when I get up from this bed!"

Goniff gave a weary attempt at a grin and straightened up in the chair. "Might want to wait til you can be talking to just one bloke stead of the two you're still seeing, Lieutenant," he advised. "Casino's about a foot to the left of w'ere yer looking."

Actor was taking a professional look at the new bruises, frowning over the slightly hunched way the pickpocket was sitting. It hadn't been obvious with Goniff sprawled back in the chair, but now, sitting somewhat upright, it was quite obvious.

"Ribs?" he asked, moving over to run careful hands over the area in question.

Goniff grimaced, "ribs, got me a good one in the stomach a time or two. Lucky, that's all. Bloody determined they were!"

 

Turns out the orderlies HAD been searching for valuables. The routine of having all personal effects kept in lockup had fallen by the wayside under the new administration in the flood of casualties. "We haven't time or personnel for non-essentials!", and a small group of the personnel had branched out from their professional duties to a sideline of scavenging, in addition to their previous sideline of pocketing whatever stray medicines or supplies that might come within their hands.

They'd popped their heads in a couple of times, only to be stymied by Goniff being awake each time. Well, of course he'd been awake. It was his job to keep Garrison awake, after all; wasn't like he could just drift off into a little nap, no matter how appealing that sounded.

Somehow the orderlies, the two of them, instead of bypassing the room entirely, decided that just had to mean there was something special just laying around waiting for them, and they got impatient.

First they urged Goniff to go get coffee; that didn't work. Then it was supposedly doctor's orders that he leave and let Garrison get some rest. That didn't work either. That's when they decided their fists and a lead sap needed to do their talking, especially with the room being fairly dark and they could be sure Goniff hadn't gotten a good look at their faces.

Of course, their story was that they were just trying to be helpful, but Goniff, asleep in the chair, had awakened suddenly and had misunderstood their intent, lost his temper and took a swing at them.

"A bad one, he is, looney most like, and with us just trying to do our jobs!" they'd indignantly explained to the doctor and the MP's that came at a run at the explosion of noise in the hushed med unit.

It had taken Garrison's grim denunciation of that scenario to make the MP's back off from Goniff. But the small assortment of valuables discovered in their pockets after Garrison insisted on a search seemed to be sufficient to persuade the grim-faced doctor, and the MP's, expecting to haul the 'troublemaker' into custody, found themselves carting off two of the hospital's own personnel instead.

Those two orderlies had quickly given up the other three in the enterprising little group, and the former rules about locking up the valuables quickly put back in place. The administrator hadn't mentioned it to Garrison, of course, but he did pull out those three complaints he'd received from other patients, about certain personal items having gone missing. He spent considerably more time perusing the claim from Corporal Aikens, that someone had come in and was meddling, and then held a pillow over his face til he'd passed out when he started to ask what they were doing. Well, people had different reactions to morphine, and the administrator flushed at how quickly he'd put Aiken's story down to just one of the more bizarre ones. They'd been lucky, there, and he just had to wonder, uneasily, whether they'd intended for Aiken to wake up again.

  
As for Lieutenant Garrison and his stubborn limpet of a Cockney? They'd been bundled up by the rest of the team, now that the doctor had proclaimed Garrison out of danger from the head injury, and quickly departed for parts unknown. An offer of medical attention for the smaller blond man had been waved away with an understandable, if slightly insulting, "think my chances are better elsewhere, mate. Your room service 'as a bit more on the menu than I really feel like dealing with, ya know?"

Garrison didn't even have the heart to reprimand him for that impertinence.

A stop to get Goniff checked out by Patrick and his staff, and they were headed home. Or at least what passed for home these days, and in fact Brandonshire was starting to feel much more like the real thing more and more. Well, for some of them more than others, perhaps, but for all of them to some degree.

In the car headed back, Casino shook his head in annoyance and remarked in a low voice to the driver, "maybe when we get back, we can park the Warden in bed and he'll actually get some sleep for a change! Maybe without gettin in any trouble for a change, even. What're the odds, Indian?"

Chief, behind the wheel, took a quick glance in the overhead mirror and the darkness hid the quick grin he allowed himself. "Seems to be doin alright now, Casino."

Casino started to make a smartass remark, but, hearing something, some hint of amusement, in Chief's voice, turned to look into the back seat. Actor was dozing to one side, but on the other? Goniff slightly sprawled in the corner, head tilted to one side, not quite asleep but looking oddly peaceful with a slight smile on his face. Slumped next to him, his head pillowed on the pickpocket's shoulder, forehead cupped into the side of Goniff's neck? Their young Lieutenant, fast asleep, Goniff's arm tight around his waist to keep him from sliding off the seat.

Casino whispered, chuckling to himself, "sure wish I had a picture of that; embarrass the hell outta both of them!"

Chief just let out a whisper of a chuckle himself. "Yeah, Casino. Wouldn't mind having a picture of that myself, maybe hand it over to the two of them, maybe sometime after the war."

Casino and Chief each grinned at the thought, but with surprisingly different thoughts going through their heads.

And in the back seat, now THREE men relaxed in sweet slumber - one under the influence of a strong painkiller for a damaged jaw, the other two under a painkiller of quite a different sort.

 

 

 

 


End file.
